


Fine

by LoveChilde



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Cream, Near Death Experiences, Platonic Cuddling, Tea, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 09:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20504414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveChilde/pseuds/LoveChilde
Summary: "I'm fine" is the biggest and most common lie that the members of the BAU tell each other. But they know when they're not fine, and have a routine for handling these kinds of events. Episode tag to 14X01.





	Fine

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last year, pretty much the day after the season premier, and then kind of forgot to post it, so here it is. I sort of figure the BAU team has protocols in place for near death experiences, being completely frazzled and general taking care of each other's mental and physical well being. This is my headcanon for one such event.
> 
> I own nothing. For a change, I'm even being nicer to them than canon was.

“I’m fine.” is the biggest lie they tell each other, most of the time.

Other times, Reid thinks with only a trace of bitterness, it’s ‘Emily’s dead’, or ‘Hotch is coming back’, or even ‘We’ll be alright’. But most of the time it’s ‘I’m fine.’

“I’m fine.” he tells Emily, even though he isn’t, and she knows it, and he knows she knows. He lies and she lets it happen, because they both know it’ll be her turn soon, to lie, and his to accept it. It’s a way to preserve some kind of dignity, to pretend until the pretense becomes reality. 

The others don’t ask. Maybe they’d rather not hear a lie, or don’t want to make him lie to them. Or, if they’re all honest with themselves, they know he’s not fine, none of them are fine, and nobody needs to ask anymore. He’s more fine than he’s been in over a year, or was before this current case, and people have spent long enough fielding outsiders’ doubts about him, after his time in prison. Nobody else asks. 

It’s the closest he’s been to dying in...two years, maybe? Certainly his life was in danger in prison, and a number of times before and since. But knife-to-the-throat close to death? It’s been a while. If he wasn’t on a plane with six other profilers, the thought of a mental sign, counting months since the last attempt of his life, would be hilarious. 

As it is, he recognizes how close he is to falling apart, and stops himself. It happened, but he’s alive and Garcia’s alive, and alive means they can rebuild and recover and will. Be. Fine.

He also thinks that alive, in the case of the cultists, meant abandoned by society and by their leader, neglected by the authorities and allowed to grow in hatred and revenge and fanaticism. Alive is capable of revenge. Was it the team’s fault? His fault, that it happened? Their forgetfulness and distraction that allowed the cult to grow, to kill again? 

It’s 299 dead people on his conscience. He’d prefer to think that it wasn’t their fault. 

Ethan, though. He’s dead as well, and he’d been sent especially to draw his attention. That’s all on him. Reid puts that thought away neatly, for further processing. He would need to work through the guilt, the horror and sorrow of it, but not here and not now. Later. 

Later is looming large on his mind, though. 

Reid makes an effort not to think, yet. A doctor needs to see him when they get back to DC, and he probably needs to eat something other than an energy bar. He raises a hand curiously and looks at it; it’s steady, where it should definitely be shaking. That means the aftershock hasn’t set in yet. 

By the time a doctor has cleared him in DC, his hands are shaking. Exhaustion drags at his limbs, and nausea has turned the thought of food into less of an option. Not thinking, also, is no longer an option.

But he’s fine. The doctor says so. A few bruises and scrapes, topical cream for his wrists where the rope cut into them, and he’s fine. Will be fine.

But he can’t stop thinking about how close he was to not being fine. To being very, very dead. 

If the others hadn’t noticed him signing on the CCTV. If they hadn’t made the connection in time. If he hadn’t figured out how to direct them. If they didn’t know each other well enough that it was almost telepathy. Finding him had required leaps of faith, rather than leaps of logic. What if they hadn’t made it in time? It had been so close. 

If if if, followed by fine fine fine, endless speculation looped through endless denial.

He doesn’t want to go home, but as the song says, he can’t stay there, either. Someone will make sure he goes home, the way they always do for one another. 

But ‘home’ doesn’t necessarily mean his apartment. Tonight, it doesn’t. 

JJ initiates it. She’s further removed from the trauma than he and Garcia are, this time around. Worried sick isn’t the same as scared to death. It could be just as bad, even worse, but it’s not the same. She didn’t feel cold metal at her throat, hot metal at her temple, this time around. So it’s her call, which Reid and Garcia are too frazzled to make.

“We’re going to Garcia’s.”

He pauses, tilts his head. His shoulders are starting to stiffen up. He’ll hurt tomorrow. He’s hurting now, in a different way. “You’re sure? Will and the kids?”

“Get it.” 

Thank a god Reid doesn’t believe in that they really do _get it_. Thank God for Will.

“Penelope?”

She attempts a smile, fails. “Yeah. Please. Thanks.”

“Emily?”

JJ is still directing this; Emily has a standing invitation to join them, but as Reid rather expected, she shakes her head.

“Not tonight. I think - keep it simple tonight, Jaje, okay?”

“Yeah.” JJ takes a deep breath and nods. Simple is probably better.

None of them says anything until they’re in Garcia’s living room, in their usual starting positions: Garcia curled up on the couch, right in the middle, JJ next to her, and Reid perched on the armrest, far enough away to feel safe, and close enough to touch if he wants to. They each drove their own car, and the separation is like a physical ache, anxiety gnawing at him until he has both of them safely in his line of sight again. Close enough to touch is better, but seeing is enough, sometimes. 

Not tonight, though. Slowly, silently, they shift. It’s a graceless sort of dance, grown smooth with familiarity. Garcia slides from the couch to the carpeted floor, dragging JJ and a throw blanket after her with one hand on each. She clutches JJ’s hand like a lifeline, fingers entwined. JJ nods at him, and he slides to the floor as well, reaching one hand to hers, the other to Garcia’s, until the circle is closed and they hold each other. 

Some night just holding hands is alright, is enough to anchor them. Sometimes all they need is the extra human contact. Reid lives his life walking the thin line between being touch starved and touch averse, taking the safe contact where he can get it. JJ and Garcia are the safest contact there is. They’re family, sisters to him, and they hold him together with their hands. 

Garcia is crying, very quietly, and still says nothing. It’s obvious, was obvious before they ever decided on the where and when of it, that holding hands wouldn’t be enough tonight. They all need something bigger and more solid, to convince each other they’re alive. So they keep moving. 

Slowly, they shift, pull and nudge, until it’s a three-way hug that would be awkward if they hadn’t been doing it for so very long. Sprawled together on the carpet, Reid can wipe away Garcia’s tears, and JJ can hug him tightly enough that he can tell himself that’s why his breath comes in short, shallow gasps, and they can tremble together without guilt, without blame or self consciousness, until they think they might not fall over the looming edge tonight. 

It’s maybe twenty minutes later that JJ speaks, for the first time since they left the BAU. 

“We should probably eat something.” When the only response is silence, she adds, “Tea, at least? Something with sugar.”

“I can make tea.” Garcia’s sort of under both of them, and Reid is starting to notice that lying on the floor presses on all his bruises, so he’s the first to push himself up. 

“I’ll take care of it. You two decide whether you’d like to eat.” He knows that he’d rather not eat just yet, but also knows that if the others decide that they’re eating, they’ll demand his active participation. He hopes they decide that ice cream is all they can handle tonight. 

“Rocky road.” He hears behind him, heading into the kitchen to make tea, and a faint smile makes a sudden appearance on his face. It’s unexpected, but that’s the power of these evenings, they draw out the normal human emotions from where he’d buried them. He’s alive to smile, alive to drink tea and have ice cream for dinner, and for a moment he wants to laugh, and knows if he starts laughing it’ll turn into crying. He doesn’t want to cry, so he doesn’t laugh. He just makes tea. 

It takes all of two minutes but he’s already missing their touch, and when he returns to the living room JJ draws him down and curls into him while Garcia presses against his other side. They’re still holding hands, now clasped over his chest. It’s warm and human and for a moment almost overwhelming. JJ feels him shudder and makes a faint calming noise, settling him into the embrace. 

“It’s alright. We’re safe now.” 

“We are.” Garcia sounds almost like she believes it. 

“You’re fine.” JJ says again, and Garcia repeats, slower.

“I’m fine.” 

She sighs, reconsiders. “I’m not fine, JJ.”

“No.” JJ agrees, and Reid nods along. They’re all fine, and not-fine. 

“You got yourself free, Penelope, and you gave the team the info they needed. You were very brave.” He reminds her. “You did good.”

“Yeah...” She trails off, sounding uncertain. “And you figured out where we were and gave me what I needed to get them there in time.” She shifts her eyes to JJ, “You got there in time.”

“They did.” Reid looks down at her and then up at JJ, “Thank you for getting there in time. Have I said that?” 

“I think you said that. We got there on time, with your help. Both your help. You weren’t helpless.”

Tied up, outnumbered and with a knife to his throat, Reid had felt pretty helpless. This is a good reminder, that he wasn’t. That he isn’t. That they aren’t. 

“I knew you’d come for me.” They always do, eventually. Sometimes it takes longer. But even in helplessness and fear, he knew they’d come. He still fears death, which makes no sense because he understands death rationally, has faced it more times than he cares to count, and it should hold no fear for him, but it does. He’s made his peace with irrational fears a fair while back, though, so he doesn’t linger on it. Death hadn’t come for him this time.

“I knew you’d hold on until we came.”

This is a lie, and they all know it’s a lie. They’d cut it far too close this time, almost didn’t make it. Almost. But ‘almost died’ is also ‘stayed alive’, and that’s good enough. He is alive, _they_ are alive. 

He puts the thoughts of those who aren’t alive aside, for the moment. 299 victims. Because they hadn’t followed up on a cult thought dead and disbanded, because for a decade, they’d let it fester. But those are thoughts for tomorrow, for mission reports and internal inquests. Tomorrow, they’ll deal with it. 

“They’ll make the two of us go through psych evals, won’t they?” Garcia sounds despondent, but it’s still an improvement on what she sounded like earlier. She’s thinking about tomorrow rather than reliving the past. That is good.

“They will, and they’re right to. The rest of us as well.” JJ seems entirely too cheerful, and Reid frowns. 

“You as well? I’m starting to think they just like us better than the other units. Between us, we have almost as many psych hours logged as shooting range hours, every year since I joined the BAU. The balance shifted since Morgan left.” He half smiles, because he does keep track, he can’t help it, and while Emily logs in almost as many range hours as Morgan had in his day, they’ve also all needed more psych hours.

“All of us. And they’re right, you know.” JJ hugs him tighter, and Garcia hugs her, and they hold on together. “We’re fine, but we could be better. Functioning isn’t enough, Spence.”

It is, actually. But it’s not ideal. And Reid dislikes nightmares. “We could be better.” He agrees, since he’s tired of lying and that’s close enough to truth. 

“Before psych, though, ice cream.” Garcia, as usual, ends the discussion. They untangle themselves, groaning only a little as bruises make themselves felt and as they realize that they’re all too old to be sprawling on the floor in a pile for very long without paying a price for it. 

They have ice cream for dinner, and drink more tea, and fall asleep together on the sofa in front of a muted TV showing old cartoons. They sleep through the night, all four hours that are left of it. 

And in the morning - well, they’re still not fine, but it’s less of a lie when they say they are.


End file.
